Page 64 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
“I will,” he promises. “We will.”
He heads back out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. This is my fault. I thought I could shield her from the violence of my world and focus on us. I believed that if she stayed close and remained in the dark, we could avoid this exact scenario.
She was never supposed to get involved with this side of my life.
I start pacing again, my mind running through everything I could’ve done to prevent this from happening. I don’t have any answers yet, but I will find them. And when I do, God help whoever stands between us.
The seconds drag. The minutes crawl. I prowl my office like a caged animal ready to pounce. Every glance at my phone yields nothing useful.
Everyone is on red alert; they know to send me a message the second they find anything. Their silence offers no comfort. It’s a stark reminder of what a failure I am. I can’t even find her.
At some point during the hellish wait, my mother slips into the office, silk robe loose at her waist, slippers whispering over the hardwood. She looks pale but otherwise steady. She hasn’t been out of bed much since her stroke, so seeing her like this feels like a miracle. But I know it was all thanks to Nicole.
“Mom, you should get back in bed,” I tell her gently, draping an arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the door.
“No, you don’t,” she argues, turning on me with more force than I realized she was capable of. “Where is Nicole? What did you do to upset her?”
Her chastising tone blindsides me, and suddenly I feel six years old again, scolded for shattering an antique vase.
“She left, Mom,” I say, giving her only the bare minimum. I can’t bear for her to blame me, too. “But I’m trying to find her and bring her back.”
“See that you do,” she commands, her shoulders rolled back and her posture stiff. She’s every bit the ferocious matriarch I’ve known my whole life, even after her near-death experience. “Once you find her, you let me know.”
“I will,” I promise, even though the vow tastes hollow.
I will if I can find her, that is.
She nods once and offers a small, maternal smile before leaving me alone again. It takes everything in me not to scream. I need something, some tangible proof that she’s okay. At last my phone rings, the name on the screen yanking me into motion. I answer without a greeting, my tone already cold.
“Where is she?” I demand.
“Ah, Sergei,” Semion drawls, the satisfaction in his voice igniting a fuse in my chest. “So eager. You must really like this one.”
“If you’ve laid a fucking hand on her?—”
“She’s safe,” he cuts in. “For now.”
I clench my jaw so tightly my teeth hurt. “Tell me what you want.”
“It’s simple,” he says casually, like we’re discussing the fucking weather. “Give me the Westside docks. And the two warehouses on Pier 18.”
My fingers curl into a fist around the phone. That’s a significant and valuable chunk of our territory, both financially andstrategically. He knows the demand is impossible; that’s why he needed leverage this heavy.
“You don’t get to make demands, you piece of shit,” I snarl.
“I just did,” he replies, calm as ever. “You give me what I want, and you get the girl back. No bloodshed. No complications. But if you hesitate too long, I can’t guarantee her safety.”
My stomach drops. I know Semion doesn’t do empty threats. He means every word, and he’ll put her through hell. I wouldn’t wish his brand of torture on my worst enemy, and imagining Nicole in his clutches turns my blood to ice.
“I’ll do it,” I say finally, voice sharp as a blade. “You get the docks. And the warehouses.”
Semion hums. “Wise choice.”
“I want her back,” I demand. “Tonight.”
“You’ll have her. Once I see movement on the territory.”
He ends the call before I can say another word.
